


Eight 2004

by YumYumPM



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-07 12:45:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1119976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YumYumPM/pseuds/YumYumPM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by, and with her permission, on Jane Terry’s story Eight, this brings NS and IK into 2004, once again recreating a bet made almost forty years earlier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eight 2004

Eight 2004  
By YumYumPM @ AOL.com

Inspired by, and with her permission, on Jane Terry’s story Eight, this brings NS and IK into 2004, once again recreating a bet made almost forty years earlier.  
revised

 

The two former U.N.C.L.E. enforcement agents were spending some quiet time in their shared penthouse apartment, the one in the Alexandria Park Hotel that Napoleon had inherited from his Aunt Amy. Now in their seventies, they should have been retired, yet old habits die hard and they continued to do consulting work for U.N.C.L.E. 

When Alexander Waverly finally retired as head of U.N.C.L.E. New York, Napoleon Solo moved smoothly from Number One, Section Two into the top spot, Number One, Section One. His place as CEA had been taken over by his partner and close friend, Illya Kuryakin, Number Two, Section Two.

Ten years later, Solo had decided, that while he was good at his job, he didn’t plan on remaining Number One, Section One into his eighties as Waverly had. Five years later his replacement as head of U.N.C.L.E. North America had been effected efficiently. 

The intervening years had changed them little. Napoleon’s hair had grown silver around the edges, and he still carried that air of distinction. Illya’s hair had darkened with age and he now needed glasses all the time, not just for reading. 

At the moment, Napoleon lay reclining on the couch, shoes off and feet up, reminiscing. “Illya, do you remember Copenhagen?” he asked as he looked up, watching Illya going through the mail that had arrived. 

“And just which time in Copenhagen would that be?” Illya inquired absently as he leafed through their mail. When no reply was received, Illya stopped sorting the mail and glanced at his partner over the top of his glasses. They had been in Copenhagen many times over the course of the years.

Napoleon looked up at his old friend and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“Oh… that time,” Illya responded slowly, holding back a smile. “Why?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Napoleon said as he wiggled the toes of his stocking feet and made himself more comfortable against the cushions. “Wouldn’t you like to try to, ah, recreate that time?”

“Napoleon, at our age, why should we?” Illya asked pointedly.

“We could try... I bet I can get you to climax four times in a forty-eight hour period.” Napoleon was now sitting up and sending a challenging look over the back of the sofa.

Illya set the mail down on the table behind the sofa and leaned over it. “No.”

“Come on, Illya.” Napoleon reached up, running his hand up and down Illya’s arm.

“Forget it,” Illya said, but even as he said it, his memory went back to the time they had been much younger, running from Thrush in Copenhagen. They had escaped into a local theater to wait out the pursuit. He could still remember the title - 'Freedom of Sex in Denmark' and the feelings watching it had elicited. A smile came to his face without his realizing it, as he remembered Napoleon’s question of how many times a man could realistically come to completion in a twenty-four hour period and the bet they eventually made. “That must have been forty years ago,” he protested.

“So what? You don’t feel up to a challenge?” Napoleon moved from the couch and was standing behind the smaller man, almost touching. 

“Are you suggesting that we are in a rut?” Illya asked over his shoulder.

Napoleon ran his hands down Illya’s arms before whispering in his ear. “Well…yes.”

Illya chuckled. Back then, five or six had seemed a lot to the Russian, and now Napoleon was contemplating trying again - at their age – impossible. Illya automatically leaned back against the body behind him, wondering why he was even considering the idea. “The whole idea is ridiculous.”

Napoleon smiled, knowing his partner was hooked. Now all he had to do was reel him in. Napoleon put his arms around the younger man and nuzzled the back of his neck. Just because they were older didn’t mean they were dead.

“Just how do you plan we proceed with this?” Illya wanted to know.

“I’m glad you asked,” Napoleon said as he released his hold and went over to the cabinet where they stored all the videotapes and DVD’s they had purchased over the years. He rummaged around and finally pulled an old VCR tape from the back of the shelf. He opened another cabinet revealing a large TV screen then inserted the tape in the player before going to the sofa and patting the cushion next to his, wordlessly requesting Illya to sit down.

Illya shook his head in amazement as he came around the side of the sofa to lean against his lover, enjoying the closeness as Napoleon put an arm around him. Something he admitted to himself they did not do often enough. He did not remember their owning a video that would be helpful in this situation. His eyes widened in surprise as Napoleon thumbed the remote control and the picture came up. He turned and looked at his partner. “That…is…us!”

“Yes, it is,” Napoleon said smugly as he lightly ran a finger along Illya’s jaw, turning his face toward him to plant a kiss on his partner’s broad forehead.

Illya however pulled away, staring at the TV watching their younger selves taking pleasure in each other. “When? How?” he asked, shocked.

Napoleon pulled away reluctantly, knowing he would not get any peace until he explained. “Well, you remember Serena, don’t you?”

Illya nodded; his eyes still on the screen. Of course, he remembered her; she had tried to parboil him.

“Well,” Napoleon said as he leaned closer to wrap the other man back in his arms. “Evidently she always felt bad about leaving you in that steam room, so when she found these tapes in an old store room, she sent them to me.”

Illya watched the TV in amazement, his head tilted to one side as he took in a particularly unusual position revealed on the video. “Did we actually do things like that?’ he asked in wonderment.

Napoleon chuckled. “I can remember times when we were even, ah, more…creative.”

“And why did you not tell me of this before?” Illya asked as he wrenched his eyes away from the screen to glare at the American.

Napoleon cleared his throat. When he had first received the video and watched it, it had elicited a secret thrill. Serena had assured him there were no other copies and anyone that had knowledge of the tape was dead. He had thought if he had shown it to Illya, Illya would have insisted he destroy the tape. So he’d taken a tip from Sherlock Holmes and hidden it in plain sight. Judging by the expression on Illya’s face, it had evidently worked. 

Many times over the years, when Illya had been called away, Napoleon watched it. He hoped now that they were older; Illya would enjoy the video as much as he did.

Blue eyes that had not faded throughout the years looked into the still warm brown ones close by. “Crazy American,” Illya muttered as his eyes strayed back to the screen. The film was grainy and there was no sound, but sound wasn’t needed. He felt like a voyeur, as he watched his younger self, sitting on a bed while Napoleon’s head bent over his erect cock, taking it into his mouth. His eyes had closed, his neck arched as he caressed the dark head of the lover giving him pleasure. Watching this, Illya had the uncomfortable feeling that his pants were growing tighter. “Is it just me or is it getting warm in here?” Illya murmured as he loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt.

Biting back a smirk, now that Illya seemed receptive, Napoleon wrapped his arms around the Russian in a firm embrace as they sat back to continue to enjoy the video. He leaned closer and whispered in Illya’s ear. “You know I would really like to try for the whole eight times again.”

Keeping the smile that threatened off his face, Illya said with a straight face, “Napoleon, do not be ridiculous. I have no time to go back to Denmark." 

Napoleon caressed the strong jaw of the slighter man and groaned. “I don’t think we have to go that far.” He leaned in for another kiss before continuing. “We’d probably have to take longer than 48 hours though.”

Illya managed to keep a sly grin off his face. He loved teasing the American. “Exactly how much longer did you have in mind?”

“A week?” Napoleon suggested, a delighted smile lit his face.

Climax One

“Come on,” Napoleon purred, as he pulled the younger man from the sofa. His glance wandered toward the bedroom but he quickly decided it was too mundane for what he planned. What he needed was - an alley. Getting up off the sofa, he slipped on his shoes and beckoned his old friend to follow. The two men exited their apartment for the elevator. With a smirk Napoleon punched the button for the basement level.

“Napoleon, where are we going?” Illya asked in a puzzled voice, just before Napoleon moved his body so close to his that he could not move.

When the elevator doors opened, Napoleon pulled away reluctantly and peeked out to make sure no one was around. “Oh, I thought I’d check out the buildings alarm system,” Napoleon said with a twinkle in his eye as he bent down to work on the door. Soon the door opened and no alarms were heard.

“Shoddy,” Illya commented, shaking his head as he followed Napoleon out into the alleyway behind their building. He was only mildly surprised when Napoleon grabbed and pushed him into the brick wall of the alley out of view of prying eyes.

Coming in close, Napoleon whispered into the ear of his lover, “Do you remember how surprised you were when I told you it was your eight orgasms we were betting on?” He ran his hand lightly up the inside of Illya’s pants leg and received a moan in his ear in return. “I see you do.”

“Napoleon, you are incorrigible. Is the bet… still fifty dollars?” Illya asked in between gasps.

“What? And get arrested for soliciting?” Napoleon chuckled as he unzipped Illya’s pants. He discreetly pulled down Illya’s pants and briefs to get at the semi-hard cock, gently working it until it was respectfully hard. “It was cold that night… remember?” he whispered.

Illya, his back against the brick wall, was having a hard time remembering anything. Napoleon's skilled hands were stroking him in much the same manner they had done that memorable night. Napoleon had told him that night to enjoy it, and enjoy it he had. Once again it didn’t take him long to come. “Ahhhh,” he gasped as he started to sag against the wall.

Napoleon wrapped Illya in a warm embrace as he pulled him back up. Pulling out a clean handkerchief, just as he done all those years ago, he used it to clean Illya before readjusting his clothing. “See. Nothing to it,” Napoleon said softly as he guided Illya back to the elevator.

Once they got into the elevator, Solo punched the button to their floor and glanced up to find his lover watching him speculatively. He raised an eyebrow.

“Napoleon… I know you and you never do anything without a reason,” Illya stated.

Napoleon nodded and moved closer. “Call me sentimental… however, seeing as this is the anniversary that we made that bet, it seemed appropriate.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Are you sure?’

“Illya…” Napoleon didn’t know whether to be exasperated or not. “I don’t forget important things.”

“And this was important?” Illya asked, his head tilted to one side. He felt a blush come over his features. He was oddly pleased that Napoleon had not forgotten.

“Grrrr,” Napoleon said until he noticed the twinkle in the Russian’s eyes. “You blushed that night too,” Napoleon teased. 

“I did not!” Illya denied as he exited the elevator, a small smile on his face. 

The elevator stopped at the top floor and Napoleon got out, heading for their bedroom. He turned at the last moment and crooked his finger. “Coming to bed?”

 

The next morning, Napoleon exited their bedroom, buttoning the cuffs of his shirt, to find Illya sitting at the dining room table, eating breakfast. Coming up behind him, Napoleon planted a kiss on the top of Illya's head before asking. “Did you sleep well?” The grunt he received in return caused him to smile as he adjusted his jacket and sat down. His Illya was just as surly now as he’d been then. His Illya. How he loved thinking that. He looked down at the bowl in front of him and frowned. Oatmeal? Yuck!

“It is good for you,” Illya said, not even bothering to look up. He pushed forward a jar of jam as well as a bottle of pills.

Napoleon poured himself a cup of decaffeinated coffee before remarking, “Oh, for the days when we could eat eggs and bacon.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out small box, passing it across to the other man.

“What is this?” Illya asked as he accepted it.

“Open it and find out.”

Illya cautiously opened the small box to find a band of gold. Pulling it out of the box, he read the inscription, IK – NS and a date written in Cyrillic. He smiled as he read the date. Placing the band on his finger, pleased at the thought behind the gift, he couldn’t resist saying, “Is it not a little late for this?” 

“Better late than never,” Napoleon said before taking a sip of coffee from his cup. “So where is mine?”

“Your what?” Illya asked.

“Illya!” Napoleon growled.

Illya smiled as he reached into his jacket pocket to retrieve a similar sized box and pass it across the table.

Napoleon picked it up. An eyebrow raised, he looked at his lover before opening the box to find a matching band of gold with a similar inscription and a smile spread crossed his face. “Great minds think alike,” he said as the doorbell rang.

“My, we are full of clichés today,” Illya remarked with a smile as he got up to answer the door.

Having placed the band on his finger, a perfect fit, Napoleon looked up to see Illya going through the morning mail. 

Illya stopped and stared when he got to a particular envelope. He held the envelope up, twisting it around to show his partner the presidential emblem. “What can this be?” he asked in amazement.

“Why don’t you open it and find out,” Napoleon ventured innocently.

Illya gave him a look of suspicion. Napoleon looked entirely too innocent, he thought as he slit the envelope using a knife from the table.

“It appears we are invited to a formal dinner at the White House… tonight. They are sending Air Force One to pick us up,” Illya said in disbelief. He eyed Napoleon distrustfully. “What do you know about this, Napoleon?”

“What makes you think I know anything?” Napoleon asked as he set down his coffee cup, his eyes brimming with amusement.

“We will probably have to wear tuxedos. You know I hate wearing a tux,” Illya said as he threw the letter down on the table.

“You want to call the president and tell him no?”

“Of course not. But why us?”

“Who knows, but ours is not to reason why…” Napoleon said as he got up from the table and went to retrieve the suitcases he had already packed, waiting for the arrival of that letter. “Shall we go?”

Illya knew he had been had. First the ring and now a White House dinner invitation, what on earth was Napoleon up to and why?

Climax Two

Air Force One

 

Several hours and security checks later, the two men were finally allowed aboard Air Force One. The steward showed them around the huge craft. Accommodations for the President included an executive suite consisting of a stateroom (with dressing room, lavatory and shower) and the President's office. They were also shown a conference and dining room that was available for the President, his family, and staff. Included were separate accommodations that were provided for guests, senior staff, Secret Service, security personnel, and the news media. The plane had two galleys that could provide up to one hundred meals at one sitting. Six passenger lavatories -- including handicapped facilities - were provided as well as a rest area and mini-galley for the aircrew. The VC-25A also had a compartment outfitted with medical equipment and supplies for minor medical emergencies. 

The steward escorted them to a waiting area before offering them drinks and leaving them alone. 

“I hope tax payers' money, our money, was not used to send this plane just for us,” Illya complained.

“It wasn’t.” Napoleon waved the glass in his hand toward the entryway, where other guests were boarding – dignitaries from the U.N.

“Oh.”

Napoleon sipped his drink and turned his gaze to his partner. Coming closer, he whispered in Illya’s ear. “Remember?”

Remember what? Illya thought; his mind went back forty years to another airplane ride. They had been sent to Paris and he had fallen asleep after boarding, only to be awakened sometime later to find Napoleon masturbating under the airline-provided covers next to him. Even now, he couldn’t believe he had the audacity to not only watch but reach over and finish him off. Damn, just thinking about it was doing things to his body. His eyes widened as he stepped back from Napoleon and there was a squeak in his voice as he asked in shock, “Here? You plan to masturbate... here… on Air Force One?”

Napoleon was definitely amused. “That’s not all I plan on doing.” He took Illya by the arm and herded him down the aisle.

“I refuse to have sex in an airplane restroom, even if it is Air Force One,” Illya hissed.

Napoleon passed the door to the President’s Air Force One office and proceeded to the next room, the suite that the steward had so kindly pointed out during their tour of the plane.

“Oh no, Napoleon. We cannot…Not here…Why not one of the other sleeping areas?”

Napoleon closed the door and locked it before taking his lover in his arms and kissing him, stopping any further complaints. “Don’t fight it,” he whispered into a small ear. “Just relax and enjoy it.” He backed Illya over to the end of the large bed and pushed him down on it. Intending to move on top of the reluctant Russian, he found himself thwarted as Illya smoothly rolled to one side, coming up off the other side of the bed. Turning to one side, his head propped on his hand, Napoleon drummed his fingers on the bedspread. “You are not cooperating.”

Illya looked down at Napoleon, his expression torn between amusement and ire. “Napoleon, number one – this is the Presidential Suite.”

Napoleon moved off the bed to come close to him, “So? I think that will only make this more memorable.” He kissed Illya again, stroking his face softly before moving his hand down to unzip, reach in and remove the cock that was fast hardening in spite of all Illya’s efforts to the contrary.

“Napoleon,” Illya moaned. “What if someone comes in?” He had learned years earlier that resistance was futile.

“They won’t,” Napoleon assured him. “I locked the door.” Maneuvering his partner back to the bed, he lowered him onto it as he used his hands to gently stroke and pump Illya’s cock. He watched as Illya closed his eyes and let his head go back against the pillow, giving in to the feelings of pleasure. “I’ll take good care of you,” Napoleon whispered as he gently massaged Illya's balls through the cloth of the trousers while he continued to pump the shaft with his other hand. Then in a repeat of forty years ago, he kissed the Russian as he came. When Illya looked as if he was in a position to understand, Napoleon asked, “Was that good?”

“You know it was,” Illya said, angry with himself for enjoying it so much. “You take the pie, you know that?” 

“It’s cake, Illya,” Napoleon said as he used part of the bedspread to wipe up the evidence before adjusting Illya’s clothing. “Take the cake, not pie. That makes two orgasms,” he said smugly.

“How are you planning to explain…?” Illya wanted to know as he pointed to the mess on the bedspread. 

“I’ll just use the same excuse as last time,” Napoleon replied as he poured his drink onto the bed. “I spilled my drink.”

An announcement came over the loudspeaker. “We have arrived at our destination and will be landing in ten minutes. Please take your seats and adjust your seat belts.”

“What about you?” Illya asked as he looked down at the American’s crotch in concern.

“Don’t worry about me. There’s plenty of time for that later,” Napoleon said, with a sigh of regret, as he unlocked the door and ushered the Russian out of the room. 

Just as they exited the room, a startled steward happened to be going by.

“Sorry, I’m afraid I spilled my drink on the bedspread,” Napoleon said apologetically with a straight face.

The steward watched as the two elderly men walked to the front to find seats and buckle in. He wasn’t surprised that they had come out of the Presidential Suite. Many a guest snuck in for the thrill of being able to say, “I slept in the President’s bed.” He entered the room to remove the bedspread for cleaning and noticed that it smelled not only of alcohol, but also of recent sex. He had seen a lot of strange things during his stint on Air Force One but…surely not the two elderly men that had just left? His eyes widened in admiration. “Well, I’ll be damned.” It was a shame he couldn’t tell anyone – nobody would believe him. 

Climax Three

Oval Office

 

Later that afternoon they arrived at the White House and were given a special tour. Illya still didn’t know how they rated such special attention as they were ushered into the Oval Office by one of the White House interns. The intern, an attractive young lady, said, “The President was delayed in a meeting, but he wanted to see you before tonight. He asked that you wait here.” She gave a lingering look to Napoleon before closing the door.

“Really, Napoleon,” Illya snapped.

Napoleon brought his attention back from the intern to his lover before examining the room. After all, he could still look, couldn’t he? “This brings back memories,” he stated nostalgically.

“You have been here before?” asked Illya as he went to sit down in a chair in front of the President’s desk.

“Yes, I have,” Napoleon said as he pulled his partner from the chair he was attempting to sit in and around to the President’s chair. He pushed Illya into it and went down on his knees, separating the Russian’s legs to get at his zipper.

“Napoleon!!” the shocked Russian hissed as he tried to get up out of the chair. “Are you crazy? This is the President’s office.”

It was too late however; Napoleon had unzipped his pants and was reaching in to take out the fast rising cock. He looked down at Napoleon’s smiling face and watched as he lowered his head to take the pulsing organ into his mouth, finding it strangely exciting, when the door started to open.

The door opened a crack and they heard the President saying, “Look, I have a couple of guys waiting in the Oval Office that I really need to see. Give me a couple of minutes and I’ll get right back to you.”

Napoleon, thinking quickly, had scooted under the desk and pulled the chair containing his partner close enough that he could still get to him. As he took Illya’s cock into his mouth, he heard him hiss. “Napoleon!!!” 

Illya watched as the President came through the doorway and headed toward his desk. He realized there was no way he was going to be able to stand to greet the President and sent a silent curse to his partner.

“Howdy, Mr. Kuryakin, isn’t it? Don’t bother to get up. I just wanted to meet you and your partner and let you know how proud our country is of the work you’ve both done in the past. Where is Mr. Solo by the way?” the President asked looking around the room.

The person in question was currently sucking the life out of the elderly gentleman sitting in the President’s chair, causing Illya great embarrassment. Illya had difficulty concentrating and trying to keep any expression of the enjoyment he was feeling as the wet mouth continued licking and sucking him to answer the question. “He’s… ah…”

“Oh, he’s in the head, right? Well, tell him I’m sorry I missed him, but I must talk to the Chief of Staff. I look forward to meeting you both later tonight,” President George Bush said as he shook Kuryakin’s hand before leaving the room.

Illya fell back in the chair, aware that Napoleon was laughing around Illya's cock just before it exploded into his mouth. He glared down as Napoleon gingerly came out from under the desk, dusting off the knees of his slacks as he slowly got up. He got out of the chair, replacing his limp organ, and zipping up his pants then turned to berate Napoleon, only have a deep kiss shut him up. “No fair. I assume you heard,” he muttered when the kiss was finished.

“Umm, yes. In the head, huh? Giving head was more like it,” Napoleon teased as he led the way out of the office and down the hall.

“Napoleon, just what was it you did in the Oval Office?”

“Pretty much what I just did now. Only I was not the one under the desk,” Napoleon said as he stopped at a door and knocked.

The door opened and a man of about 35 came out and handed him a cassette. “Hi, Uncle Napoleon. Here’s the tape you wanted.”

“Thanks, George. Illya, this is George Dennel, Jr. You remember his father, don’t you? George, this is Illya Kuryakin. George is head of security here,” Napoleon said proudly as he put the video in his jacket pocket.

Dennel turned to Illya with admiration shining in his eyes as he put out his hand to shake Illya’s enthusiastically. “I’ve heard a lot about you from my dad and Uncle Napoleon. It’s thanks to Uncle Napoleon that I have this job.” 

“Thanks for getting us the invitation, George,” Napoleon said.

“Oh, it was nothing. You two are legends, so it wasn’t hard at all,” George replied. “The President’s made arrangements for the two of you to stay in the Lincoln bedroom tonight and he’s sorry that he can’t send you back the way you came but knew you would understand. He is going to need Air Force One for a trip to Peking tomorrow.”

“That’s quite all right. We can go back by train,” Napoleon said.

Before turning to go back into his office, George offered, “I’ll have one of the interns show you to the Lincoln bedroom so you can get ready for tonight.”

“George Dennel, Jr.?” Illya asked stunned by all the information his mind was processing.

“Uh huh, I was best man at his father’s wedding, remember?” Napoleon said absentmindedly.

“Just what was that all about?” Illya asked, pointing to the pocket where the cassette had disappeared.

“Oh, that. That’s the surveillance tape from the Oval Office,” Napoleon said.

“What!!!”

“Well, you didn’t think there were no cameras in there, did you?” Napoleon asked. 

“Oh, Napoleon,” Illya said weakly as another intern showed up to escort them to the Lincoln bedroom.

 

State Dining Room

The two men exited the elevator; each resplendently dressed in their tuxedos, to pass the myriad of security personnel before being admitted to the State Dining Room. They walked to the front of the receiving line and shook hands with the President.

“Mr. Solo?” President Bush asked. “I was sorry not to see you earlier. I wanted to tell you both how much we appreciate the work you’ve done for this country.”

Napoleon cleared his throat and managed to keep from blushing. He sent a sideward glance to Illya. “Thank you, sir.”

The President turned to his wife, who was standing next to him. “Laura, these gentlemen are Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin. You remember hearing the stories George is always telling about them?”

“Welcome to the White House,” Mrs. Bush said graciously with a warm smile. “Of course I remember… I’m not sure I believe them…but I do remember them.”

“Exactly what stories does George tell about us?” Illya muttered into Napoleon’s ear as they moved into the dining room proper.

Napoleon shrugged. “You’ve got me.”

As the evening progressed, the two men took their places at one of the dining tables. Napoleon had been seated next to a well-developed blonde actress and a minor embassy official. He didn’t recognize the actress’s name and sat there politely listening to her talk of people that he knew nothing about. He looked down at the other end of the table at his partner. Illya was seated between two men, one of who appeared to be a man of the cloth, and Illya did not appear to be happy. His jaw was tightening in the way Napoleon recognized as annoyance. 

At that moment however, the blonde actress again made a statement, so he turned back to smile at her and at least look as if he was interested. When next he had a chance to look at Illya, it was to encounter very stormy blue eyes turned on him.

When the meal concluded, Napoleon watched as Illya pushed away from the table and without any excuses, stormed away. Making a hurried excuse to the people on each side of him, Napoleon set down his napkin and followed his partner, catching him just as he was about to exit the room.

Illya’s face was red and his expression stony as Napoleon grabbed his arm. He pulled it free and turned on his lover. “I cannot believe… How could you? I should have seen it. First the bet, then the video… and this invitation. Why did you not just shout it out and tell everyone?” he hissed as he pulled off his ring and threw it on a nearby table before storming out of the room.

A shocked and puzzled Napoleon slowly picked up the ring from the table and watched the receding back of his friend. What the devil…? he thought.

“Uncle Napoleon? Ah, I mean, Mr. Solo.” George Dennel came up behind him, his manner professional. “Is something wrong?”

Napoleon looked at him distractedly. “George, who were the people Illya was seated next to?”

George looked through the papers attached to the clipboard he held in his hand. “Here we are, Archbishop Chrysostomos and Alecos Modinos. Why?”

“Who is Alecos Modinos?” Napoleon asked not recognizing the name.

George again consulted his clipboard. “The gay rights activist from Turkey.”

Gay rights? thought Napoleon as he looked down at the ring in his hand and closed his fist around it. He closed his eyes and said, “Damn.” Then he turned and raced after his partner.

Climax Four

Lincoln Bedroom

 

He entered the Lincoln Bedroom to find Illya angrily tossing clothes into his suitcase. “Illya?” he said softly.

Illya refused to look at him. “Just go away, Napoleon.”

“Illya, I had no idea…” Napoleon said.

“No idea?” Illya turned a blue eyed glare on the darker man. “No idea that we had been invited because we are gay?”

“What? Whatever gave you the idea…?” Napoleon said as he sank down heavily on the side of the bed and ran his hands over his face, in shock. The tension in the air was almost palpable. “Illya… are you ashamed… of us?” he asked sadly.

Illya stopped throwing stuff into the suitcase and sat cautiously next to Napoleon, not looking at him. “No…of course not,” he said unconvincingly. “It’s just that I am not used to…I did not think that…” He sighed. “I do not know what I am.”

“Illya, I swear I had… That is not why we are here.” Looking down at his hands, his ring in particular, Napoleon let out a deep sigh. “I guess I’m just a foolish old man trying to reclaim his youth.”

Illya glanced at the slumped form of his lover and his heart softened. “No, Napoleon,” he said softly as he put his hand on Napoleon’s arm, and then he paused, considering. “Well, yes, you are old…we both are… and sometimes foolish. But as to wanting to reclaim your youth…well, you are not alone.” 

Napoleon covered Illya's hand with his own, grateful for the touch. 

They sat in silence for a time then Illya continued, “I did not think anyone knew. That is what threw me. Perhaps it is time I came…out of the closet.”

“Not everyone does know,” Napoleon consoled him. “Mr. Waverly did, of course.”

“Mr. Waverly!!!” Illya spoke louder than normal clearly shocked.

“Why do you think he worked so hard to get you your duel British and American Citizenships?” Napoleon asked.

“Waverly?” Illya didn’t want to believe it. “What about George?”

“I’m pretty sure he doesn’t know.”

Illya shook his head. “Could I…have my ring back?”

Napoleon opened his hand and looked down at the band of gold before reaching over and placing it back on Illya’s finger. “You probably don’t need to…come out of the closet. After all, I’m the only male you have relations with, right?”

Illya took back his hand and then fiddled with the band. “That is true. Unlike some people I know…”

Napoleon winced as he turned away so Illya could not see the pain that filled his eyes. “It was a stupid mistake. One I intend never to repeat.” 

Illya reached over and put his hand to Napoleon’s cheek, turning him so they were eye to eye. “You had better not.” His blue eyes glared as he brought their lips together, ending any ill feeling that existed.

Napoleon reached over, pulled the slighter man into a warm embrace, and sighed as Illya placed his head on his shoulder. “Don’t think I don’t realize how lucky I am to have you,” he whispered into Illya’s ear. Pulling away he took off Illya's glasses and used his hands to cup the face of the man he loved. He ran his thumbs across the cheeks and looked deeply into the blue eyes, then pushed Illya down to lie flat on the bed before claiming his mouth. 

For someone who thought he was old, Napoleon can kiss rather well, Illya thought and then he started to chuckle.

Napoleon pulled away puzzled. “What?”

“I was just thinking that Lincoln is probably turning over in his grave about now,” Illya, his voice laced with amusement, managed to say as he pulled Napoleon's tie apart and started undoing his buttons.

“Let Lincoln find his own man,” Napoleon countered as he pulled away to finish the job of removing his clothing.

Illya lay there watching for a moment, one leg bent, before kicking off his shoes and following Napoleon’s lead.

When they were under the covers and in each other’s arms, Illya asked with a bit of nerviousness, “Are there cameras in this room?”

Napoleon pulled away slightly and considered, “I’m not sure.”

“Oh well, you do know the security chief,” Illya said, as Napoleon’s hand wandered across his body, causing it to arch with pleasure. Odd, he didn’t feel old, when those hands did their magic. Odd how he found the body next to him still as desirable as it always had been. He rubbed his hand over the broad chest down to the base and over the cock that was hardening fast. His own cock was being fisted and pumped as his mouth was plundered. The only bad thing about being older was that it didn’t take as long to come and the enjoyment was over much too soon.

Illya lay there drifting off into slumber while Napoleon went for a warm wet cloth to wipe them off. Getting back into the bed, he pulled the slighter man closer and heard him mutter sleepily, “How many times does that make?’

Napoleon looked down at the closed eyes and thought as he pulled him closer. “Well, let’s see there was the alley behind the apartment, Air Force One, the oval office.” He felt Illya chuckle. “and here. That makes four.”

“Four in forty-eight hours… that is not bad.” Illya said, opening one blue eye. “Shall we continue to try for all eight?”

“It would be my pleasure,” responded Napoleon, pleased.

Illya closed his eye again before replying. “Mine too. But not on the train.”

“Why not?”

“Too many people.” 

“That’s never stopped us before.”

“Go to sleep, Napoleon.”

***

The next morning the two former agents received an invitation to dine with the First Lady in the President’s private quarters. It was an enjoyable meal with several pets wandering in and out at will.

“I really must apologize for only being able to offer you the one room,” Mrs. Bush said. “Mr. Dennel said you wouldn’t mind. He said you two nearly always ended up sharing a room while on assignments. With so many guests last night, we were running out of places to put people, and George was adamant about the two of you staying here and not at a hotel. I sometimes think he’s always wanted to be a spy.”

“That’s quite all right, Mrs. President,” Napoleon replied, throwing a glance Illya’s way.

“Call me Laura.” 

“It was an honor to be allowed to stay in the Lincoln Bedroom,” Illya said politely as he bent down to pet the cat that was rubbing against his ankles.

“That’s India, she doesn’t usually take to strangers,” Mrs. Bush said in amazement. An aide entered the dining area and whispered into her ear.

“I’m so sorry; I find I must leave you now. Please feel free to stay and enjoy your breakfast. I understand Mr. Dennel has made arrangements to get you to the station,” she apologized as she came around the table to give each man a parting handshake before leaving.

Dennel Jr. had personally escorted them to the train station and chatted with Napoleon while Illya stood there distancing himself from the conversation. Illya was apprehensive about the trip back, wondering what Napoleon might do to him, yet strangely excited by the thought at the same time.

He was therefore surprised when Napoleon did nothing. During the trip back Napoleon sat next to him reading a paperback book, not once making a move that anyone could consider amorous. Illya didn’t know whether to be grateful or not. He glanced at the man next to him. A small smile appeared on Solo’s face indicating that he knew he was under discreet observation. Illya turned back to contemplating the scenery outside his window seat. Perhaps Napoleon thought that the four times they had managed to accomplish was enough. Four times in less than forty-eight hours, he thought with amusement. That must be one for the record books. Especially at their age, though he doubted anyone would believe them.

Climax Five

Limousine

 

It was late afternoon when a somewhat disappointed Illya followed Napoleon as they left the train at the New York station. Automatically heading for the cabstand, he was surprised when Napoleon approached a limo driver. He watched as Napoleon spoke to the man, before handing him a bill of undetermined denomination. The driver tipped his hat and left.

Napoleon waved Illya over and opened the back door of the limo, ushering the Russian into the back seat, ignoring the questioning look in his eyes. He opened the driver’s door to the limo and slipped into the seat, adjusting the mirror and familiarizing himself with the controls, before pulling out into the traffic. He knew Illya was curious, but he wasn’t about to enlighten him, at least not yet. The limo was somewhat bigger than he was used to driving and it took all his concentration to weave his way through the downtown traffic. Soon however the traffic thinned enough for him to glance in the rearview mirror and see how Illya was doing. Illya had obviously taken advantage of the fully stocked bar and was sipping a glass of vodka.

“You doing okay back there?”

“I am fine, Napoleon. Evidently we are not going straight back home. Would you mind telling me where we are going?”

“All in good time, my friend. All in good time.” 

They drove along in silence until they came to a private small side road and drove to the end. Napoleon stopped the car and parked, sitting there looking out at the view down below through the windshield. It was dark now, and the lights of Manhattan glittered below like stars. Napoleon opened his door and slid out. He paused before opening the rear door and slipping in to sit next to his partner.

“You know I always wanted to make out in a limo,” Napoleon said as he made himself comfortable and fixed a drink from the bar.

Illya reached a hand to stop him. “Napoleon, if you are driving, you should not drink.”

Napoleon looked at him with amusement as he poured himself a glass of clear soda. “Yes, mother.” 

“So, you brought me all the way out here to ravish me?” Illya asked as he sipped on his drink.

“That among other things.”

Illya’s eyebrows drew up. 

“I was remembering another limo ride,” Napoleon said softly as he set down his drink.

“Nostalgic, are we?” Illya quipped. “I would have thought you would have other things on your mind.” He reached over and put Napoleon’s hand on his bulging crotch.

“Feeling randy, are we?” Napoleon asked as his hand traced the shape of the hardness under the cloth.

“I do not know anything about a Randy, but as hard as it is to believe at our age, I seem to find myself in need of…” He brought his hand to cover Napoleon’s as he pushed his erection up into Napoleon's caressing touch.

“First let me explain,” Napoleon said gently as he continued to fondle Illya through the cloth of his trousers. He used his other hand to caress the light brown hair. “Remember Mandor?”

Illya looked away. How could he forget, he’d almost lost more than his life. He’d been not much more than an imbecile when Napoleon had rescued him. “Yes.” 

“I think that’s when it really hit me,” Napoleon said.

Illya turned back to look into Napoleons warm brown eyes. “What hit you?”

“How much you really meant to me. There I was with a gorgeous blonde.”

“Leslie,” Illya said remembering the innocent who had been involved in the incident.

“Yes, and she wasn’t the blonde I wanted to be with.” Napoleon leaned in for a tender kiss, his hands working to undo the belt and pull down the zipper that trapped the straining cock below. He broke the kiss long enough to encourage Illya to lift his hips to slide the trousers lower. He reached out with one hand and was delighted when the cock rose to meet it. He looked up to see Illya, his eyes closed, lay his head against the back of the seat. He reached for his drink and let the liquid slide down his throat, leaving the ice still in his mouth before he brought his mouth down on the awaiting erection.

The coldness of the mouth enveloping his taut cock nearly drove Illya so wild he almost came on the spot. He pushed further into the wet mouth as a hand moved to fondle the sacs below, marveling at the enjoyment the touch was causing. “Yessss,” he hissed, pushing his hips up, wanting the hand to move even lower. The hands obediently obeyed his unspoken wish and strayed to the crevice before a finger moved gently pressing pass the ring, going deeper, causing him to thrust into the mouth sucking him. As the finger moved inside him, the sensation caused his muscles to contract and he came moaning., “Oh god,” as the enthusiastic mouth continued to suck and swallow all the fluid that gushed forth for a most pleasurable climax.

He lay there limply as Napoleon crawled up to kiss him and tasted himself when Napoleon’s tongue engaged his own. He wrapped his arms around the larger man, holding him in place, enjoying the feeling of the solid body against his. 

Much too soon Napoleon pulled away. “We really must go,” he said regrettably, as he exited the backseat to regain his seat in the front. He watched in the rearview as Illya finally regained enough sense to pull up his trousers and adjust them to their original state, before he relaxed with a contented sigh. Pleasing his partner had never felt so good, he thought as he drove through the night.

Climax Six

Shower

The next morning Napoleon’s eyes popped open to the sound of Illya saying, “Good morning. Are you ready for a workout? He was disappointed, however, as he sat up in the bed and found a sweat suit slung at him. That was not the kind of workout he had in mind.

********

Napoleon had just finished twenty minutes on the exercycle and was tired and sweaty. He glanced at the other side of the room and sat there watching as Illya did his sit-ups. Wiping the sweat from his face Napoleon called over. “Take off your shirt.”

Illya stopped in the middle of a sit-up. “Why?”

“Don’t argue… just do it.”

Illya shrugged, he was accustomed to strange requests from the Napoleon. He pulled T-shirt off over his head.

Napoleon gazed at the sight before him and made a face of disgust. “I don’t believe it.” 

Illya looked down at his stomach muscles; sure they weren’t as tight as they’d been when he was younger but still, they weren’t that bad. “What is wrong?”

“You know, that has always bothered me about you,” Napoleon complained as he came to stand over the Illya.

Illya continued his sit-ups where he’d left off. “And that is?”

“You are only two years younger than me, but always looked a lot younger,” Napoleon continued as he looked down at the younger man.

Illya stopped again and looked up at Napoleon, not sure if he was kidding or not, until he noticed the crinkles in the corners of the dark eyes. “Well, perhaps if you worked out more often…” he suggested. “You could come with me to the track.”

“Umm, but no thanks. It sounds too much like work,” Napoleon grunted.

As Illya finished his sit-ups, Napoleon reached down to help pull him up from the floor. The two men stood there face to face and Illya said, deadpan, “You know, one good thing about being all sweaty is having to shower.”

Napoleon brightened up at that thought. “How right you are.” 

They'd had the bathroom redone a couple of years ago and the shower was nice and large. There were two showerheads, with massaging features and a wide bench for sitting on in the middle. It worked out well for them at their age. Napoleon liked sleeping late, so it had been a while since they’d showered together. Illya was in slightly better shape because he worked out at least three times a week. It was rare that their schedules would allow for this.

As Napoleon soaped Illya down, he caught a look of reflection on his face. “What are you thinking about?” Napoleon asked softly.

Illya laughed. “I was remembering the time in Paris, and the remark you made about reading that ninety percent of household accidents happened in the bathroom in Good Housekeeping. I did not know you read Good Housekeeping.”

Napoleon shrugged. “It was the only magazine around at the time.” He turned back around to let the water slide down his front. Sometimes like now, he felt this shower was too big. Then he felt Illya’s warm body behind him, his arms coming around and embracing him, his head lying against his shoulder.  
“Illya?” he asked, his voice husky with need. “Would you…? I’d like for you to… I need you… inside me.”

Illya traced a finger down Napoleon's back and answered sadly, “I am sorry, my love. But I cannot…” And he pulled away to sit on the bench, his head hanging low.

“I… understand,” Napoleon said as he turned around, and indeed, he did, after all, the reason was all his fault. He got down on his knees and lifted Illya’s chin up with his finger, then leaned forward to place a gentle kiss on the full lips. 

Illya parted his legs and put his arms around Napoleon’s neck, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. As Napoleon ran his hands up and down his thighs, he felt the rush of blood surging down to his groin while the warm water flowed over both of them. Breaking their kiss, he pushed Napoleon away ever so slightly.

Napoleon looked down at the erection standing tall before looking back at the azure eyes filled with sorrow and need. Licking his lips and grateful to be allowed this, he slowly ran one finger up one side and down the other of the swollen organ. Using the pad of his thumb to gently circle around the head, pausing at the slit, he smiled as a moan issued from Illya’s mouth. He felt the thighs under his hand tremble as he took the weeping cock into his mouth and began sucking, enjoying the feeling of the slick staff. 

Illya moaned in pleasure. “Damn, Napoleon,” he gasped as he came. “That mouth of yours should be declared a lethal weapon.”

Climaxes Seven & Eight

 

Napoleon put away his keys after entering the darkened apartment and resetting the alarm. Taking off his shoes and setting them beside his suitcase, he made his way cautiously to the bedroom. Having been gone for two days, he was extremely tired. He stopped in the doorway, his chest tightening with fear when he saw that the bed was empty. Turning toward the living area, he noticed that the light was on next to the sofa, and placing his hand on the doorway for support, started breathing again. He tried never to be gone more than a day or two at the most, because of the fear that was always there, that he would come back and find Illya gone…again. It had been almost thirty years ago, but still the fear was there.

With a sigh of relief, he walked to the sofa and looked down to find a pajama clad Illya sprawled, a book on his chest, his glasses still in place. He carefully removed the glasses, setting them aside on the end table, before removing his overcoat and sitting in an armchair facing the fire that burned low in the fireplace. He looked at the fire, not really seeing it and reflected on how stupid he’d been all those years ago. Illya had been away on assignment for over a month and Napoleon had missed him desperately. Desperate enough to visit that bar, pick up someone and bring him home. His memory of that part was vague, thankfully. However, the memory of Illya unexpectantly coming home that night and finding him in their bed…with another man, stood out clearly. The next day, all traces of the Russian were gone from his home and his life. The shame and anger he had felt made the next days and weeks a blur and he remembered little except for coming to in the medical wing and finding Illya there, waiting for him.   
They had managed to put it all behind them, though occasionally, even after all these years, the shame that he had caused his lover such pain still gripped him.

Illya started awake. Sitting up and stretching, the book sliding from his chest to the floor, he became aware of a dejected figure, staring blankly at the fire, sitting near. “Oh, Napoleon, you are back.” It’s hell growing old, he thought he felt a twinge in his lower back. After a few minutes of silence he continued, “We need to talk.”

Napoleon looked over to Illya, his eyes bleak. “Must we?” he asked softly.

“I think so. Come sit over here,” Illya instructed, patting the cushion next to him. When Napoleon had plopped down beside him, Illya took his hand and intertwined their fingers. “About this bet of ours,” he started. “It was not just about spicing up our love life…was it?”

Napoleon shook his head, unable to look at Illya as he mouthed the word ‘no’, finding it caught in his throat.

“I thought not,” Illya responded with a sigh. “You are disappointed with our relationship, yes?”

“No!” Napoleon said emphatically. “It’s just that I miss… not having more.”

“It was thirty years ago, Napoleon, and I realize I was a little angry.”

Napoleon turned an astonished stare at him.

“Okay, it was more than a little. But you have to admit I was justified.”

Napoleon nodded. There had been no excuse then, and no excuse now for the act that had almost cost him more than he liked to think about. While Illya had been there for him, after the stay in the hospital, holding him and loving him, he had never again allowed the intimacy of coupling. 

Illya raised the hand he was holding to his lips and kissed it. He had never meant to punish Napoleon nor himself for that matter. It was just that back then he couldn’t bring himself to do it without thinking of what he had found on his return from the month long assignment, and as the years passed, he thought that they didn’t need to show their affection in such a manner as much. Perhaps he was wrong. In fact, after this last week he was sure he was wrong.

“Napoleon, one thing this past week has taught me is that we are not too old to enjoy certain facets of our lives. Now stand up and take your clothes off,” he said sternly.

Napoleon looked at him, astonishment written all over his face. “You mean here…. now?”

“Napoleon, do not argue with me. Just do it,” Illya said as he propped his feet on the coffee table and made himself comfortable on the sofa. Finding he was looking forward to this, he watched as Napoleon loosened his tie, took off his jacket, and his holster. Then a thought occurred to Illya and he pulled himself up, heading for the bathroom. 

“Hey, where are you going?” Napoleon called as he unbuttoned his shirt.

“You will see. Just keep on doing what you are doing,” Illya answered as he raided the medicine cabinet looking for something to use as a lubricant. He came back into the room to find Napoleon’s trousers and underwear making their way south. “Do not forget the socks,” he said as he unscrewed the lid on the jar of moisturizer he’d found. “Up against the wall. I do not think we have ever done it that way.” 

Napoleon stared at him in shock. He looked at him closely to make sure it was his Illya and not a double. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I am positive we have never done it this way,” Illya said impatiently.

Napoleon went over to the wall and braced himself, looking over his shoulder, he remarked, “That wasn’t what I meant.”

Illya examined the body facing the wall. Not bad for someone in his seventies, he thought. “Your skin is rather dry,” he said as he used the lotion to go smooth over the broad shoulders and down the back, taking special care of the cheeks before leaning close and whispering into Napoleon’s ear, “Not as firm as we used to be, are we?”

Napoleon snorted, then gasped as a greased finger entered him. The gasp changed to moans of pleasure as one digit was joined by another, twisting and stretching him.

“You are a little tight,” Illya complained, his voice harsh.

“I should think so. It hasn’t had any use this way in some time,” Napoleon gasped in response as the fingers were withdrawn.

“Bend your knees,” Illya commanded as he withdrew his own erection from his pajamas, ready for action. Gripping Napoleon by the hips and positioning his cock, he pulled Napoleon to him, sliding into the willing body, and almost passed out with the pleasure it brought. How could he have deprived himself of this pleasure for so long, he wondered as he pumped away, enjoying the sensation. 

Napoleon gasped at the entry of the swollen organ, amazed at how right and natural it still felt after all this time. “Oh god, Illya… harder… harder,” he begged, his voice choked with desire, pleased when Illya obeyed him and did as he asked. He could feel Illya’s harsh breath against his neck as he thrust into him repeatedly. On the last thrust, he felt his knees give way and he slid to the floor, taking Illya with him. “It’s a good thing we don’t take as long as we used to. I don’t think my body could stand it,” he said weakly when his breathing was back to normal and he felt Illya chuckle against his back as Illya slid carefully out of him.

Illya gave him a last embrace before standing and reaching down to help the larger man up. “Let us take this into the bedroom, where you can ravish me in comfort,” he said.

Napoleon looked down at his still limp organ. “The mind is willing but the body is weak.” He heaved a sigh before following Illya into the bedroom.

“It is all in your mind,” Illya said as he removed his pajamas before sliding into the bed next to a nude Napoleon. “Watch.” He snapped his fingers and waved them over the limp cock and watched as it slowly rose to meet his waiting hand.

Napoleon looked down in astonishment. “How did you do that?”

“Magic,” Illya said smugly, as he stroked the penis gently, feeling it get harder with each caress.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Napoleon said, and looked over to Illya’s limp organ as well. “Do you mind?”

“It is a bit early, but be my guest,” Illya said as he moved his body into a better position.

“Ala Kazam,” Napoleon said as he snapped his fingers and waved them over the formerly limp cock of his lover and watched in amazement as it too rose. “It worked. I really have to remember this.”

“That is all well and good, but now it is my turn,” Illya said as he thrust the jar of cream into Napoleon's hands and turned his back to him. 

Pushing Illya’s leg forward so he could get to him, Napoleon opened the jar of cream, coating his fingers before inserting and receiving a moan of pleasure from Illya. 

“Do you think you remember what to do?” Illya asked, as he lay relaxed, enjoying the feelings of which he had long been deprived.

“Oh, I think I’ll manage. I’m sure you’ll let me know if I do anything wrong,” Napoleon said as he removed his fingers and replaced them with his hardened cock. Once he was all the way in, he stayed there for a moment savoring the feeling before gently thrusting. The two men rocked back and forth meeting the other’s needs. Napoleon removed one hand from Illya’s hip and brought it around to the weeping erection, pumping it in time to his thrusts. All too soon, both men were spent.

“We did it,” Illya said sleepily.

“Yes, we did,” Napoleon replied, kissing Illya's shoulder.

The End


End file.
